The night was still, with nothing but the ticking of the clock whispering through the air. I sat on the bed, watching the dim lights cast soft shadows on the walls. He entered with quiet steps, his eyes fixed on me with a reassuring gaze that carried a familiar sense of seriousness.

He approached me slowly, raising his hand to gently touch my cheek, as if his fingers were searching for the warmth of my skin. I felt his breath graze my lips, and then he whispered softly but clearly:

"In the name of Allah."

With a confident movement, he pressed a warm, quiet kiss—one that carried a sense of reverence, making it feel different. When he pulled away slightly, his eyes gleamed, and a faint smile touched his lips as he said:

"Praise be to Allah, who has fed us and given us drink."